Sodales
by Breeze-Riddle
Summary: Albus Dumbledore had never really understood Tom Riddle. A tainted ring chooses to enlighten him. Creature fic. Time travel. HG/TR. AU. Oneshot.


Like the summary says, this is a creature fic. So saying that, one could assume that relationships are unrealistic in this world. Assumption correct.

I had the bottom half of this oneshot written for awhile now, besides the last few paragraphs. The plot as well and I finally got around the finishing it. I hope all of you enjoy! No Beta.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, no matter how much I wish it to be so. If it was, Tom Riddle would have had more time than Voldemort. And Harry and Tom would have been bonded by love with lots of slashy goodness. So...on with the story!

* * *

Albus Dumbledore shook with regret and grief as he unsteadily pushed himself up from the floor and sat numbly in the chair behind his desk. He didn't register yet that his hand now had a viscous curse racing through his blood; slowly killing him from the inside. No, his thoughts were focused on what he had just seen, the familiar - and annoying as some others would say - twinkle in his eyes gone, leaving a dull blue behind.

The mystery behind the reason of the events that had just occurred would later occupy the man, but at that moment, all he could think and all he could feel was sorrow, regret, and a horrible self-loathing.

_Oh_, how he had failed, he realized. The mistake was unforgiving, so very devastating that which the flames consuming Britain could only bring resigned understanding. Tinged with horror and grief and even burning _anger_ - though no longer directed at Tom - but understandable nonetheless.

He did not know why the Horcrux had consumed him with heart breaking memories, gut wrenching in the fact that such a hand had been dealt to a single person; but he found himself both cursing and thanking the ring that caused such turmoil.

Albus had never understood Tom Riddle. Oh, he had thought he had, told himself he was one of the only who had seen, but even then, he had not quite convinced himself of this falsehood. When thinking of the child, the boy, the man, the first thought that had come to mind was _corrupt darkness_. A twisted evil filled with self righteousness and hatred. He had thought - _oh how he wished he hadn't_ - that the boy and then the man had been unredeemable. That had been a fact to the old wizard and no facade could tell him otherwise, no praise or speech or even action. He had simply seen too much of Gellert in Tom Riddle, and his bitterness at such a resemblance had controlled his own actions.

And now he regrets.

He wished he had asked the child for his side of the terrible tale. Of the rabbit hanging from the rafters - poor Tom had lost his only friend to Billy Stubbs, even if the companion was only a snake. Or why he would _want _to use his magic to _hurt_ the other orphans - they had hurt him enough physically and verbally that such actions were bound to be skewed morally. Or why he had taken to thievery - his things had been stolen first, it was only understandable in his childlike rationalization to react in kind when the matron dismissed his complaints. Or the most horrifying of all - Tom's hatred for the caregivers at the orphanage. It enraged Albus to know that _those women_ had had the boy _exorcised_. And then when the exorcism had seemingly not succeeded, had taken to locking the child in the darkness of the attic to pray, to repent and be punished for his _sin_.

His actions had not been _right, _but they had not been _wrong _either. It had been only the behavior of an _abused, bullied child. _

And he could only feel _pride_ at such strength Tom had held, for it would have been understandable, terrible but understandable, if the child had given in. He had been broken - yes, so very broken - but he had not allowed such grievances to destroy him completely. He fought and he had struggled. He had even hoped for a better future. But what he had not done was _give in. _

The pride he felt was twisted but true. And he grieved more so at that revelation because it was simply _too late_. Tom Riddle was gone and only Voldemort remained. But that pride did not diminish, even with the knowledge that Tom _did _eventually succumb to the horror of his life.

Because, that too, was understood.

Secrets in the Slytherin line were well kept and unknown to anyone who were not direct descendants. So it came as a surprise to Albus to find that the infamous Parseltongue ability was a result of a creature inheritance - the Naga.

Albus could easily grasp why such information was kept in secret as Naga's were a well known and an unfortunately hunted Dark Creature in the wizardry world. Despite any misgivings Albus may have for Dark Magic - he saw what they had done to Gellert - he knew prejudiced against such creatures were misplaced. Werewolves were in the same category as Naga and Albus was with the opinion that Remus Lupin was one of the best men he has ever known. So the news that Tom Riddle was a Naga did not alarm him.

No, it did not alarm him, but something else _did_.

It was common knowledge in the wizardry world that all creatures possessed mates. Either could be human or a magical creature themselves, it did not matter. Each mate was compatible by mind, body, and soul and only with their chosen could they truly be happy. What was also well known was that if one did not find their mate by the time their full inheritance activates - at the age of seventeen when they reach magical maturity - they would begin to loose their mind. It was a slow process but if a witch or wizard had not found their mate after a decade, their mind would be lost to them forever.

Tom Riddle applied to this process just as any other wizard did. And Tom Riddle had not found his mate.

And then, at what could have been and at what _was_, Albus Dumbledore wept.

xXx

Hermione Granger walked silently down the corridor of Hogwarts, her arms wrapped around a stack of books that she was on her way to return to the library. She was musing over her life as of late, wondering how everything could be _so_ different but at the same time, the same.

The smell of Hogwarts, the portraits, the ghosts, house elves, professors and students alike were all the same. The grounds, Hagrid and his many magical creatures, the Forbidden Forest, studying, homework, even the ceiling of the Great Hall was the same. Harry, Ronald, Ginny, Luna, Lavender, Professor Snape. _The same_.

She supposed the only thing different was herself.

It started the summer before a new term began at Hogwarts, her Sixth Year. Strange things had been happening, even stranger than anything else that had happened before. It was almost like accidental magic, but she had not had any such happenings since her first year of Hogwarts so she had dismissed this possibility.

The first occurrence happened only three days after returning home. She had misplaced her foot on the stairs as she had been making her way down a floor for breakfast. About to fall - dramatically thinking at the time to her death - a sudden, _unnatural_ gust of wind had righted her body and steadied her on the step she had been standing on before.

She had not known what to think at the time - and every other time after that. Flowers blooming in seconds from just a _touch_, candles lighting _without_ a match, a breeze when she began to feel hot when reading outside under the old oak tree, water boiling when angry, ice cubes in her glass staying frozen for hours on end. Not to mention the slightly heightened sense of smell and hearing.

She would have been worried if she had not been a witch. It was odd, undoubtedly, but she knew there must be an answer. And there was.

Elemental Nymph.

Every occurrence had fit - but she knew she was a Muggleborn. Her parents could _not _perform magic. She had been utterly confused, rightly so, but that had been the only answer that had made sense.

So she had gone to Gringotts to take an inheritance test. What she found had shocked her to the core.

Her mother and father were both squibs. Her father's great-great grandfather had been cast out and disowned by the Black family at the age of seventeen; and her mother's grandmother had been an elemental Nymph herself. Hermione's great-grandmother had been weak though, barley any magic in her body at all. When she had had Hermione's Nana, her father a muggle, the magic had all but died.

It was only by chance that two squibs fell in love and had a child together. This caused the dormant magic that ran through their blood to activate in their daughter, thus leaving her half witch, half Nymph.

After she had gotten over her astonishment, Hermione had thanked the goblins and left immediately for Flourish and Blotts. Disappointed with her findings, she had, after much deliberation and hesitation, made her way to Knockturn Alley. She found a shop by the name of _Wizardry Wisdoms, _a bookstore with three levels full of books covering the Dark and Neutral Arts.

Nymphs, she discovered, were considered Neutral Creatures, bordering on Dark. At this new revelation, Hermione's opinion of Dark Magic began to change. And her famous curiosity ignited - overwhelmingly so.

Four months later, after a summer of studying the Dark and Neutral Arts passionately and without but the smallest of pauses - other than sleep -Hermione could not understand the prejudice against the two arts. And she was ashamed that she had ever shunned any branch of magic. Especially now that her creature inheritance and magical maturity had come and passed.

Hemione did not inform anyone of the development that she had undergone. Not even Harry and Ronald. Hogwarts was too Light oriented - only the Slytherins practiced every branch of magic and they were scorned by the other Houses for this, even the professors to an extent, excluding Professor Snape who was a dark wizard himself. And Harry and Ronald were much to prejudiced against anything Slytherin and Dark to the point that she was sure if they knew, they would drop her in a nanosecond.

That isn't to say that others did not know of her change. The Slytherins were able to feel the Dark Magic clinging to her and the Neutral Magic practically seeping from her pores. This had warranted a range of reactions: shock, amusement, speculation, intrigue, even a sense of camaraderie.

Professor Snape, likewise, had been shocked and amused. There was even a glint of _respect_ in his eyes whenever his gaze fell upon her. He had asked her to stay behind after her first Potion lesson of that year and had warned her against informing anyone of her use of Dark Magic. And the same warning was dryly intoned after she had confided in her creature inheritance. Hermione had already known this before, of course, but she appreciated the act all the same.

And then there was Dumbledore. She could still remember the shock and _disgust_ in his eyes when he realized the difference in her magical aura. He never outright claimed to know of her using of the arts, or her creature status, but he made it known how disappointed he was in her all the same.

It had hurt at first. She had admired the man since her first year - admittedly not with the same amount of reverence as she had before, but admired all the same. It had hurt, but she got over it.

She did not need the man's acceptance. Nor his respect. He was only but a Headmaster to her. Not a leader - as she did not plan on joining the Order any longer. Not that she would join the Death Eaters; she was neutral in this war - nor was he a grandfatherly figure as he had acted as before. Only her Headmaster for two more years and then she would never have to see the old man again.

Even so, her temper steadily began to rise after each disapproving glance, after each subtle, reproving comment. Though her composure did not falter. She was as polite as can be when the Headmaster 'lowered' himself to speak to a Dark witch such as she, sugary so. It had been a revolting revelation when she realized her tone almost had the same false sweetness quality Umbridge had had - but while that thought had made her cringe, it had equally made her smirk in amusement.

Other than Dumbledore, the Slytherins and Professor Snape, none were the wiser of the change she had underwent. Harry and Ronald were as oblivious as ever, even to her subtle withdrawing of her place in the Golden Trio. Ginny had been slightly confused at first, and Hermione had saw a flash of unnerved recognition in the redhead's eyes before the youngest Weasley had dismissed her reaction altogether. After all, this was Hermione Granger, muggleborn extraordinaire. She would never perform Dark Magic.

Hermione had heard these words as if spoken and had to refrain from scoffing in disbelieving disgust at the time. What did being muggleborn have anything to do with Dark Magic? Not that she was really a muggleborn at all but...

She digressed.

In the end, none of her friends had a clue as to what was going on with her and she planned to keep it that way.

xXx

Tom Riddle's mate had not been born in his time. Whether that was decreed by _Fate_ or had been an ill-timed mistake, Albus did not know. Moreover, he did not know which was _worse_.

Tom had, at sixteen during his Fifth Year, performed a neutral ritual to discover who his mate was to be. The ritual was designed to show the face, name, location and birth day of the caster's chosen.

Tom had searched for his mate before without the use of magic. At Hogwarts first and then branching off to all the magical alley's in Europe. When he had still not found his mate, Tom searched for a ritual or a spell that would give him the name of the one meant for him. It had taken months to find the ritual needed, months tasting of desperation.

For to Tom, his mate was his very last hope at happiness. More importantly - _at love_. And logically, at keeping his sanity and sound mind.

The joy Tom had felt when finding the ritual had left Albus with a feeling of great despair. And the devastation and hopelessness the boy had been engulfed in when the ritual had displayed no name, no face or location had caused Albus to weep.

And then the rage came. Rage at the world, hatred for those who have been granted happiness and love when Tom himself was cursed with a life of loneliness, pain, grief, _betrayal_. Even magic had betrayed him in the end, his own self - and for that, Tom vowed to make the world pay.

xXx

Hermione was sitting in her normal seat at the front of the class in Potions, a bored expression on her face as she waited for class to begin. Harry and Ron had not got an O on their Potion's O.W.L so they were unable to take the class this year. Which meant she now had no one to keep her entertained before the lesson started.

She didn't have to wait long though. With a _bang _of the double doors_, _Professor Snape stormed into the classroom, his black robes billowing and a ferocious scowl adorning his face. Hermione was amused by this - which was slightly disconcerting - and she couldn't help but think that Professor Snape was a _very_ dramatic man.

"Today," he drawled as he stalked down the isles, "you all will be brewing the _Sodales_ potion. To any of you who do not know," at this, a look of utter revulsion crossed his face and Hermione had to stifle a snort of laughter, "this brew is more commonly known as the soul mate potion."

He sneered from the front of the classroom, almost as if he was waiting for excited, girlish giggles. None came but Hermione knew if any other Gryffindor female had been in this lesson, most specifically Lavender Brown, there would have been.

Satisfied with the silence, he continued, "I am quite aware that as you all received an O for your Potion's O.W.L, you will know this information, but I will remind you anyway for mistakes could be...deadly. Woundwort and yarrow are one and the same, as is valerian and amantilla. Endive _must _be shredded by hand for the properties to work correctly. And as you had all _better _know by now, allspice must be grated, never crushed."

His heavy gaze swept across the room, and when no one spoke, he nodded, "Begin."

Hermione was of course the first to finish her potion, and she carefully filled her vial full of the opal hued brew. Tapering the bottle, she made her way up to Professor Snape's desk to hand in the assignment. He nodded once to her before carrying on with his grading, and Hermione suppressed a smile of amusement when she saw the parchment littered with red ink.

Sitting back in her seat, she saw that there was still a little over fifteen minutes of class time left. All classes in Sixth Year were double blocked so she had been working on the _Sodales _potion for approximately an hour and forty five minutes.

This thought brought her attention back to her potion. _Sodales, _as Professor Snape had stated, was known simply as the soul mate potion to those who were not Potions Masters. Unfortunately, one could not see the face or name of said soul mate. The only significance of the brew were the fumes that were emitted.

Hermione leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Her hands tightened into fists and her pupils dilated as the intoxicating fragrance of her mate filled her lungs. The most prominent scents were of books and dark chocolate. Another long inhale and she could detect two more notes. Wet dirt and blood.

xXx

The Dark Arts, Albus had realized, were not the optimum of evil as he had so assumed before. Tom Riddle's memories informed him of this fact. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had never felt his age quite as acutely as he did now. All those years, _scorning_ those who delved into the Dark and even the Neutral Arts.

Prejudice - something he has always tried to damper. But how could he when he was one who practiced the vile action daily?

Albus was filled with deep self-loathing, a gripping feeling that caused his heart to ache and his throat to seize. His own students, he realized, the feeling of wanting to weep most familiar as he had done so many times this day. Fawkes thrilled but he could not find himself to be comforted.

_His own students. _

Slytherins, he had always assumed, were - while children - a bigoted bunch too deeply immersed in the Dark Arts to be 'saved'. But they...they do not need any sort of saving, he now knew.

Perhaps it was _he_ who needed to be saved.

What kind of Headmaster was he? Ignoring the plights of young _children, _taking sides when there _never_ should have been. _Biased_. He had always been _so _biased. It was a wonder any Slytherin parents allowed their children in this school at all.

Albus had always been one for second chances. He wished to see the good in people because they were _all _human in the end - so _why_? Did his bitterness for his former lover override his intelligence, his compassion? How had he missed what an utter hypocrite he had become? Spouting second chances, house unity and the power of love. Except...he had done _none_ of these things.

He should _not _have judged his students by their affinity. He should _not _have favored the Gryffindors and scorned the Slytherins. He should _not _have listened to one side and not the other. He should _not _have smiled at the Light while frowned at the Dark.

_He should have loved all of his students._

And at realizing this, he remembered one very special witch. One with as much promise, intellect, power and...

Oh.

_...Oh._

Albus smiled.

xXx

The chattering in the Great Hall was easily blocked out as Hermione read, having finished her dinner several minutes ago. She was waiting on Harry and Ronald, not the least bit interested in their discussion of who was the better Quidditch team. Honestly, did they think of nothing else?

She was about to turn the page when she felt a weight land on her shoulder. Startled, she turned her head and smiled when she saw a little barn owl. She unwrapped the letter gently from its leg and then fed the bird a piece of her left over chicken from her plate. The owl hooted softly after finishing the meat and then took off into the air.

Hermione looked down at the letter, ignoring Harry and Ronald's inquiries. She quickly pulled off the piece of twine tied around the middle and unrolled the small piece of parchment.

_Miss Granger,_

_Please meet me in my office after dinner is complete. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

_PS. I am quite partial to Cauldron Cakes._

Hermione sighed quietly and slipped the note into her book bag.

_"_Who was the letter from, Mione?" Ronald questioned, thankfully after he had swallowed a large bite of bread pudding.

She glowered at the redhead, "I have told you before - _do not call me 'Mione'," _he gulped at her fierce look and Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel guilty over taking out her frustrations on the boy, "And it was from Professor Dumbledore. He wishes to see me in his office after dinner is over."

Harry's eyebrows rose and he looked at her curiously, "Do you know why?"

"No," she replied in negative, "I'll tell you when I get back to the common room, alright?"

Both boys nodded and returned to their discussion, leaving Hermione to continue reading her book.

Soon, everyone was leaving the Great Hall and making their way back to their respective house rooms. Hermione took as many short cuts she knew - which was a lot since she had studied the Maurader's map intensively - and arrived at the Headmater office after only a three minute walk.

"Cauldron cakes," she said, watching as the gargoyles moved indifferently. She strode up the short set of stairs and knocked thrice on the wooden door and waited.

"Enter."

Hermione walked into the room cautiously, politely nodding to Dumbledore with guarded eyes. Mentally, her eyebrows rose at the smile the old man gave her. It was not the fake, slightly disapproving smile he had been gracing her with for the past month. Instead, it seemed regretful but _genuine_.

Smoothly, she took her seat, folding her hands in her lap, "What is it you wished to speak to me about, Professor Dumbledore?"

"My dear girl," he began welcomingly, causing Hermione to bristle slightly at the name, "First, I would like to apologize."

Hermione's face stayed blank despite her surprise, "Apologize, sir?"

"Yes, yes," he nodded, the twinkle in his eyes diminishing slightly, "I have made many mistakes in my long life and one of them was how I had been treating you this past month. It was very unprofessional of me."

Hermione was silent as she processed this. She had not expected Dumbledore to apologize. _Not at all_. She actually expected the man to make her life more difficult than needed. She was highly suspicious of this supposed change_,_ so didn't say a word.

Dumbledore seemed to slump from the guilt that filled his eyes, taking the place of the annoying twinkle completely, "Miss Granger, I give you my sincerest apologies. I...had always been under the misconception that Dark Magic was a vile branch of magic and...it has come to my attention that I had been wrong."

Disbelief filled her and Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, "I...," she wasn't sure what to say and was actually feeling highly uncomfortable at the moment. Deciding just to end this conversation quickly, she said, "I accept your apology, sir. Was that all?"

Blue eyes began to twinkle once more and he studied Hermione for a moment, curiously. She barley stopped herself from fidgeting under his gaze and simply stared back.

"Miss Granger, I am aware that this is none of my business, but would you mind indulging in an old man's curiosity? What is it that you smelled in your _Solades _potion today?"

Hermione's eyes widened ever so slightly at the unexpected question. She didn't see what harm it could do so she decided to tell the old man, "Books, dark chocolate, wet dirt, and...blood, sir."

The smile on Dumbledore's face widened and Hermione couldn't help but feel wary at his expression. What could cause such a reaction? Before she could ponder this further though, Dumbledore abruptly jumped topics.

"Miss Granger, we are loosing this war. I fear that if something is not done, everyone will be under Voldemort's mercy," his expression became subdued, but only an infinitesimal amount. The outcome left Hermione unnerved. Dumbledore's emotions did not match his words at all, "I called you here today, Miss Granger, because I have a mission for you, if you would accept it. I own a time-turner. A very special one indeed, for you see, instead of only traveling back a few hours at a time, this time-turner is designed to take the user back decades," he peered at her over his glasses for a moment, taking in her shocked expression, "I see you understand what I am asking of you. Do you accept?"

This old man was senile, Hermione decided. Travel back in time? Assuming she was correct, Dumbledore wished for her to travel to Riddle's era and...and do what? Kill him? Change him?

She swallowed reflexively, not understanding why _she _was tasked with this mission. Shouldn't he be asking Harry? Why her? What could she-

Ah.

She was Dark and Harry most definitely was not. So that meant Dumbledore did not wish for her to kill the Slytherin Heir, so that meant...change Tom Riddle.

It enraged Hermione that this old man had the _audacity_ to ask this of her after treating her like _utter shite _since the new term began. But...even if she was Dark, Voldemort was a madman and would have no qualms in disposing of her. And Harry would allow his hatred to get the better of him and would get himself killed.

Still, Hermione was on the verge of rudely telling the headmaster no when a brief image flashed in her mind. Pitch black hair; charcoal eyes; long, pianist hands.

"Yes."

xXx

"My name is Hermione Granger, sir, and I have a letter for you."

She watched as a younger Dumbledore with only slightly graying auburn hair read the letter the future Dumbledore - and wasn't that just confusing? - wrote with curious eyes. He seemed to pale the further he got down and when he had finished, he carefully sat the letter down on his desk and stared at the parchment blankly.

Finally, after minutes ticked by in silence, she ventured to say quietly, "Sir?"

He did not jump but it was obvious she had startled the man. He seemed to have forgotten that she had been there. Hermione was curious of what had been written in the letter but chose not to ask, and instead waited for the professor to speak.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger," he paused and stared at her briefly before a slow smile grew on his face, "Headmaster Dippet has been called away for a family matter, so I am currently filling in as Acting Headmaster. Our Head Girl has decided to learn elsewhere this year so the position is currently open. From what I see here, you would make an excellent Head Girl."

So she was a seventh year now? She supposed that was not a problem; after all, she had already read the Sixth Year course books and had managed to cast all the taught spells - mostly on the first attempt.

She smiled, "If you are offering me the position, sir, I would be honored."

"Very well," he smiled merrily, that familiar twinkle in his eyes, "Do you wish to be sorted now or would tomorrow during breakfast in the Great Hall be preferable?"

"Now, sir, if you don't mind," she just wanted to get this over and done with. This night and the mission. She had a mate to search for in her own time, after all.

"Not at all, my dear girl!" He said cheerfully, rising from his seat behind Dippet's desk. He carefully grabbed the Sorting Hat and placed the worn fabric on her head.

_Well, well. What do we have here? A time traveler, eh? I haven't had one of you in decades. Hmm, very interesting...yes, I see you have been assigned a mission. _A knowing chuckle and then the hat continued. _I believe you will find yourself enjoying this mission, Miss Granger. Now, where to sort you? Brave indeed but I believe you are no longer meant for Gryffindor. Loyal yes, oh, very intelligent. Hard working and - what is this? Very ambitious aren't you, Miss Granger? Cunning and very clever. And your magic...yes, better be-_

_"_Slytherin!"

Hermione was not shocked by her new house all that much; during her first sorting, the hat had told her she would do well in Slytherin, but because of her blood status, it would not have been wise. But now, being an Elemental Nymph, proved that she was not a muggleborn at all. And other than that, it would make this mission run that much more smoothly.

She reached up and gently took the hat off her head, placing it in Dumbledore's waiting hands. After setting the Sorting Hat back on its stand, he sat back in his chair, gazing at her with an almost amused glint in his eyes.

"Now, I am sure you are tired from your journey, my dear. You shall receive your schedule tomorrow at breakfast and we may speak again after if you wish, but for now, you should rest," at this, something flashed in his eyes but it was gone to quickly for her to discern, "The Head rooms are behind the portrait of the merpeople on the third floor, the password being 'unity'. I am sure you know where this is located?" at her nod, he beamed, "Excellent! I wish you a goodnight then, Miss Granger, and I hope you enjoy Hogwarts as much in this time as you do your own."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," she said politely, rising from her seat, "Have a pleasant night, sir."

After a final nod, she left the office. Her mind was blank as she made her way through the castle to her new rooms. The shock of the events that had passed still had not left her and all she wanted to do at the moment was sleep. She couldn't even dredge up the appropriate amount of dread at knowing that she would be meeting Tom Riddle soon, either within minutes or tomorrow morning. She brushed this odd occurrence off as a result of shock and exhaustion.

Finally, she found herself in front of the assigned portrait, murmuring the password. She stepped inside the chambers, the portrait swinging shut behind her, intent on going straight to her rooms.

But as she took her first breath in the different area, she froze. Her eyes darkened and her hands started to tremble with yearning and realization. The pieces started falling into place in her mind, and all the resentment and anger she felt towards Dumbledore faded.

Books. Chocolate. A hint of wet dirt and blood.

Breathing deeply, almost moaning at the heavenly scent - _so_ much better and stronger than the fumes from the _Sodales_ potion - her eyes easily met the charcoal ones of her mate.

Her breath caught in her throat as she drank in the image of Tom Riddle; he was sitting on one of the couches, a book forgotten and discarded in his lap. His body was tense and angled towards her own, his hands clenched and resting against muscular thighs. His eyes were dark and intent as they focused on her, shock and disbelief and lust and _hope _swirling in those piercing orbs. Though his body was wrung tight, his jaw was loose as if it could drop at any second, though she knew - both from past experience and instinctively - that he would not allow it to do so. His nostrils were flaring, and his head was titled slightly back and to the side as he inhaled her scent.

The only sound in the room was their heavy breathing - both from the need to smell their mate but also from the overwhelming feeling of the mating pull urging them to complete their bond. Without thinking, Hermione stepped forward in Tom's direction, a powerful feeling of longing coursing through her - _to touch, to taste, to give herself freely to her mate._

When Tom rose from his seat, movements hurried yet still graceful, and then paused, she feared for an irrational moment that he would leave, was utterly terrified he would reject her. But as she took another step toward him, he matched her movements until they were finally, _finally_ in front of the other, gazing at their mate with wonder.

Tom lifted his arm and she realized his hand was shaking; he hesitated, his hand hovering in mid-air before Hermione finally brought up her own to press against his. Their fingers automatically entwined and both gasped as their magic immediately engulfed both in warmth and comfort.

Neither knew who moved first, but suddenly they were pressed together, gripping each other tightly and desperately.

For Hermione, it was at the thought of her fated being alone for his whole life. That if she had not come back to this time, he would have gone insane and would have been _completely and utterly broken. _

For Tom, he had believed after performing the common ritual for finding one's mate and seeing that no one had appeared, he was fated to be alone forever. That the _only_ person who could love and care for him unconditionally, one who could never betray or hurt him like so many others have before _did not exist._ But here was his beautiful mate in his arms, holding him just as fiercely as he was her, her warm scent of books, spice, and vanilla surrounding and muddling his mind. His hands were still trembling against her waist and back at the intensity of the emotions running through him, and though he did not cry, his body shook with his relief. With his past pains and loneliness. With the joy that came with the thought of _never again_ being alone.

And Hermione understood - sliding to the ground as Tom's knees buckled. She held him tighter, frantically running her hands through his hair, over his face, across his back and sides.

"Fuck," Tom murmured hoarsely, pressing his face into Hermione's neck and breathing deeply. He almost groaned as her scent assaulted his senses, his arms crushing the smaller body to his chest.

Hermione shuddered, allowing her hands to still on his back and gripping his shirt with clenched fists. She lifted her head from its position in the crook of Tom's neck and he copied her movement, their eyes meeting as their bodies stayed pressed together.

They stared at each other reverently, eyes flickering as they studied the other's face. Memorizing each detail hungrily. Hermione pulled her arms from around his back then lifted her hands to run them gently through Tom's silky, dark hair, slowly sliding them down until they cupped his cheeks, her thumbs caressing his high cheek bones.

Tom closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, his sigh ghosting across her lips as one of his hands reached up to entangle in her mass of curls, "My mate."

"Yes," Hermione whispered, a small smile on her lips as one of her hands trailed down to slowly stroke his collar bone, "-and you're mine."

His eyes flickered open and her heart ached as she saw the insecurity there, the vulnerability and fragility. She had never thought Tom Riddle could display such emotions - but that was before, when he was Lord Voldemort and she was only Hermione Granger.

Now though, she knew he was her soul mate, her one and only. And that she was his.

She was aware at that moment that, as with every other meeting between mates, her mind was rapidly filing away impressions of Tom's life. Nothing specific, but enough to know just _who_ he was, who he _is_.

_Beautiful_. She breathed the word in her mind, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath - and more human than anyone she has ever met before. Her eyes flickered back open and she gazed into his with a look of adoration, of a sweet promise that caused Tom's breath to hitch in his throat.

She didn't care that Tom now knew she was from the future, she didn't even care if he became a Dark Lord - but she _knew _he wouldn't, not with her here, not now that he wasn't alone any longer - all she cared about now was _Tom._

"Hermione," he slowly murmured her name, tasting it, his deep voice caressing the four syllables with a tone of awe and devotion.

Hermione smiled at him gently, goosebumps rising. One hand curved around his neck, fingers tangling in raven hair as she continued to stroke his cheek with the other, "Tom."

He shuddered, the hand left on her back moving to tenderly cup her face as he stated more than questioned, "You are...from the future."

Hermione replied anyways, her eyes watching intently as Tom's eyelashes fluttered briefly when her hand began to gently card through the hair on the nape of his neck, "I am."

"And you...came for me?" He asked, his voice trembling from the intensity of his hope and joy, his hand shaky against her cheek.

Hermione had been about to answer in negative, her heart clenching as she thought of the disappointed taint that would enter his eyes, but then she paused. She had wondered before why she had accepted Dumbledore's plea to save the future - she had been on the verge of declining after all. But then she remembered that as she was about to tell the old man a firm 'go to hell', an image of a beautiful, raven haired boy had flashed in her mind. Only for the briefest of seconds, but it had been enough.

"I will always come for you," she murmured, her smile loving as her hand slowly came to a halt and simply rested against the pale cheek.

Tom took a shuddering breath, his eyes clenching shut as the grip in her hair and on her cheek tightened, "W-why-"

Hermione shushed him gently as she smelt his tears, leaning in to brush their lips together for the first time. Both made a strangled noise in the back of their throats, their magic entwining and pulsing around and inside of them, filling both with a feeling of utter completeness and leaving them breathless.

Their lips lingered but Hermione soon pulled back; only slightly though, and as she spoke, her breath warmed his face and her lips barley brushed his, "You are my mate," she murmured as Tom allowed his eyes to open, "Not even time can keep me from you."

"Hermione," her name was said in a choked whisper, and his eyes closed again as he struggled to compose himself.

The curly haired witch smiled sadly, her hand pressing into his cheek with a firm but gentle pressure before relaxing, "You do not have to hide from me, my love."

A shuddering gasp came from parted lips at her words, the gentle caress of the pet name pushing through his shields and causing his heart to ache with a bittersweetness that had him clutching Hermione to him.

For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle wept. His body shook violently with his sobs and Hermione immediately wrapped him in her arms fiercely, rocking her broken mate gently, tears of her own falling from her eyes.

And as Tom pushed his face into Hermione's neck once more, his tears soaking the cloth and her skin, he realized that she was holding him together. His mate was not allowing him to fall apart at the seams as all of his shields and masks came crashing down.

Neither knew how long they stayed there, kneeling on the floor and embracing the other tightly, but finally Tom's sobs faded and their tears dried. There was now a lightness in the man's heart that he had never felt before, a weight he had not realized that had been hanging over him since he was a child all but vanished.

Tom nuzzled Hermione's neck briefly before pulling back fractionally. He smiled then as he stared into the eyes of his mate, "Thank you."

She smiled back, leaning forward and rubbing her cheek against his tenderly for a moment. She heard his breath hitch and her smile widened as she tilted her head back again to stare at the handsome features before her, "You are welcome," she studied him for a moment, remembering the pain in his eyes from before and spoke softly, "I am sorry I took so long."

"No," Tom shook his head, his grip tightening, "All that matters now is that you are here. And that you are staying."

When he said the last part of his statement, he seemed almost fearful, as if he was scared to hope. But there was also a stubborn look in his eyes, fiercely determined. One that said he would do anything in his power to make her stay if she tried to leave him.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, her voice still soft though a tinge of amusement was woven in, "I will never leave you."

Tom's eyes widened slightly at this, and his face broke out into a beautiful smile - small, but a smile nonetheless. He drew in a shaky breath and could only stare at her for a moment.

Then, his gaze flickered to her lips and she instinctively did the same. Both only had to lean in an infinitesimal amount, and they tilted their heads to the side slightly just before their lips met. A high pitched moan escaped them both as their magic flared to life, rejoicing. Tom's tongue slid slowly across Hermione's bottom lip before pulling the plump flesh into his mouth and sucking gently. Hermione groaned loudly, desperately clutching at Tom's locks as her skin buzzed with intoxicating pleasure.

Tom pulled away, separating their mouths. He studied her darkened and slightly questioning eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her swollen - not nearly enough - wet lips.

A smirk twisted his mouth as he gazed at her heatedly, "What do you say to consummating this bond?"

Hermione laughed, grinning at Tom before crushing their lips back together as her answer. After all, they could always talk in the morning.

_Fin._

* * *

To clarify - yes, I'm aware Slughorn was the Potion's Professor in their Sixth Year, but I'm not too fond of the man and I love Sevie. I hope I did him justice.

Dumbledore was a large part of this story because...well, I think he's a biased, manipulative bastard. And while I didn't address his manipulative tendencies, I wanted him to see the mistakes he's made. Not so much for Harry but for Tom and the Dark. That's my perception of that branch of magic and if you don't like it, go write your own story of Dark equaling evil.

Tom is OOC. Please don't point it out as I already know. I love misunderstood!Tom as much as I love evil!Tom. I was in the mood for the former so that's that. I _was _hesitant about him crying though. I almost deleted that part of the story and rewrote it, but in the end, Tom really did need a good cry. I want it known, though, in my mind, that was the only time Tom ever cried. He really just isn't the crying type.

On Horcruxes, I just didn't want them in the story. You can choose on what happened with that matter: either there wasn't any at all, he absorbed them later, or whatever else you wish.

_"I will always come for you," she murmured... _Yeah, I so snickered like the pervert I am when I wrote this. Speaking of pervert, I wanted to write a lemon, but this oneshot was already long enough at that point and the ending just seemed right. Use your imagination.

Anyways, thanks for reading everyone! Reviews are much appreciated. Flames though, are not.


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